Great editorial writing is not accidental. (Editor's Note).

One of favorite editorial passages is part of the piece that earned a Pulitzer Prize for the Omaha World-Herald in 1920.

Harvey E. Newbranch wrote the 1,500-word editorial, a tribute to the rule of law. On the previous day, September 28, 1919, a mob had torched the courthouse in Omaha. The rioters hanged and incinerated an African-American prisoner and strung the mayor from a utility pole, nearly killing him. Then the mob rampaged through the downtown area, looting and burning.

Newbranch printed his editorial under the headline, "Law and the Jungle."

The sentence that particularly captures my admiration: "Should the day ever come when the rule that was in Omaha Sunday night became the dominant rule, the grasses of the jungle would overspread our civilization, its wild denizens, human and brute, would make their foul feast on the ruins, and the God who rules over us would turn His face in sorrow from a world given over to hostility."

Most of us don't write like that. Probably couldn't if we tried. Readers would accuse us of being stilted, pretentious, out-of-touch.

Yet the good writers of the past have much to teach us. Surely we can find an application for the skill and craftsmanship that Newbranch puts into his extended jungle metaphor, his alliterative "foul feast," his careful repetition of "rule."

Note, particularly, the reference to "wild denizens." After the riot, rumors and suspicion ran rampant. One story, still given credence by some historians, was that henchmen of the city's machine boss had stirred up the rioters. The theory was that Boss Tom Dennison wanted to discredit the mayor, a reformist.

Boss Dennison. Wild denizens. Newbranch's elaborate jungle metaphor thus becomes the setting for an even more finely wrought pun.

Denizens/Dennison accuses, but only in a literary sense. It hurls a devastating indictment without exposing the writer to accusations of libel. From the standpoint of the writer's craft, it illustrates, more effectively than any abstract discussion, the power that accrues with mastering the tools.

Exquisite figures of speech like denizens/Dennison don't just happen. For the really good writers, nothing is accidental. They develop such skills through years of study, practice, and attention to the principles of good writing.

Those are some of the themes we hope to convey with this edition's Masthead symposium. I am indebted to John Taylor for his commitment to good writing and for the inspiration he provided this edition. Special thanks to John Sweeney, Taylor's Wilmington colleague and founder of the Wilmington Writers Workshop, who made this symposium whole and lined up a distinguished cadre of writers to give it life.